Misdemeanors
by Black-Marimba
Summary: In my many years of life, I have learned that miracles do happen. They are far and few in between but they exist. The recovery of Captain Steve Rogers in 2011 was one of them. But there are also misguided hopes. The return of Loki in 2012 was one. I've come to realize that when you act on misguided hope when trying for a miracle you can be charged with more than just misdemeanors.
1. Chapter 1: Second Meetings

Chapter One: Second Meetings

The vast halls of one of the many SHEILD centers were like a labyrinth to those not familiar with them. My light boots made no sound as they connected with the tiled floor of the hall. My steps were silent and quick as I made my way to the meeting Fury was holding in one of the conference rooms; the meeting I was informed about roughly seven minutes ago.

Rounding a corner, I willed open a set of double doors to reveal the exact conference room I was searching for. The director stood at the table and glanced at me with his one good eye. Director Fury was a dark man of average height though his carriage somehow made everyone shrink in his presence. His black leather duster blended in with the rest of his clothes and boots giving him the look of one large shadow. Perhaps that was what made the newer agents fear him on sight; the image of a shadow gliding through their lives barking orders and harsh words if met with the failure to comply. Nick Fury was nothing soft.

"Agent Fyres, how nice of you to join us," irritation and sarcasm mixed in his voice.

"How nice, indeed, no thanks to you," I fired back taking my usual seat. Fury ignored my comment and picked up a remote. The overhead projector flickered to life as Fury brought up a presentation.

"As most of you know, a man was discovered in the arctic sometime last night and if you didn't know- now you do. Now normally this wouldn't be a concern of SHIELD but his clothes and matching vibranium shield lead us to believe that he is the super-soldier engineered by Dr, Erskine in the 1940's." A chorus of whispers went around the table as I clenched my teeth nervously. The projector showed various pictures of a muscular blonde man caged in ice at various stages of defrostation. "Now he has been thawed out and is staying with us for observation. After these 70-something years it has become evident that another serum is not a likely but we can't exactly let him go out into this new time. Those of you here are going to observe him, monitor him, and try and get him to assimilate as quickly as possible. We are _not_ a babysitting service." Fury looked around at us, his hard gaze unwavering; practically daring us to voice an inquiry. When he met none he continued, "That is all. Now go and do your jobs."

Everyone hurried to gather their things and rid themselves of the imposing director. One brave soul, a small Korean woman, addressed him. "What is his name?" Fury glanced at the photos and answered.

"Steve Rogers."

Days had gone by and I tried to leave my room as little as possible after given the assignment of assimilating the super-soldier. I admit I was childish about avoiding the assignment as I had subjected myself to telling others I was ill and snuck around during the night to restock my fridge but I couldn't bring myself to actually go and speak with the man out of time. But Fury was having none of that.

A week after the meeting, my door opened and the director entered, his signature long coat billowing behind him like a living shadow. His face was stern like usual but there was a deep anger there that he rarely turned on me.

"How are you Andy? You look well. You look pretty damn well for someone who hasn't left their room for practically a week. What is this I hear about you not seeing Rogers like I ordered?" His words came out in a rush as his temper flared. I had no answer and I didn't deny his accusations and remained silent. Realizing I wasn't going to fight him on this he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Look, he isn't listening to anyone really, he's stubborn, confused, and he won't talk. We need that silver tongue of yours, Fyres."

I nodded. "Alright. I shall be there shortly." I spoke low but Fury's trained ears heard me as he gave me a curt nod then left.

After a short shower I dressed in my usual attire which consisted of black trousers and a deep purple tunic. I admired the swirling silver decals that ran across the durable fabric before I pulled my almost-black hair into a bun at the nape of my neck. A once over in the mirror deemed that I was decent and I left to visit the soldier.

The walk to where the captain was kept was not as long as I hoped. Upon entering I found that the room was decorated in the style one would find in the 1940s complete with war posters, light fixtures and a boxing ring. There was even the dull wash of sepia all over the room from the light bulbs. Every detail was to the "T" but something about it just seemed off, as if the furnishings themselves knew they were imposters. The sound of Fury's voice brought me out of my haze and back to the present.

"I've brought someone new today, Mr. Rogers." The man in question was across the room facing away from us as he beat the punching bag in front of him.

"It's been a week already. Can't you see that I'm fine?" The soldier beat the bag with more enthusiasm, an obvious sign that he was not fine but rather angry.

"You've been asleep for 70 year, cap. It's expected that you experience shock and mild PTSD. We are trying to help you!" Fury motioned me closer and I took hesitant steps forward.

"I'm fine! I don't need a shrink or a doctor or a scientist. I. Am. Fine!" With one last punch, the bag broke off the chain and flew a couple yards away from the blonde. He sighed and went to retrieve the dead weight as Fur smiled placed me in front of him, his hands on my shoulders.

"But you see, Agent Fyres is none of those things. Her skill set is much more… unusual… But she was once stranded in an unfamiliar world. I figured maybe you two could relate to one another."

The captain kept his eyes on the ground as he walked back and reattached the bag. It was evident he was ignoring the SHIELD director. The older man gave me a push and I walked up behind the soldier. My voice was uncharacteristically quiet as I spoke, "There is a difference between pity and empathy, Captain." The man whipped around, his blue eyes wide as he stared at me. The cerulean eyes searched my face then my eyes as his breath caught. Taking a careful step forward he found his voice. His voice was barely a whisper.

"Andy?" I gave a small but genuine smile.

"Hello, again, Steve."


	2. Chapter 2: Explanations

**Author's Note: Hello, thank you for reading this Misdemeanors. This is not my first fanfiction, but this is the first one for this account. You may know me as xxjaimi122xx. I am finally getting back into the swing of things and seeing Thor: the Dark World has convinced me to post this story. Misdemeanors has been brewing in my mind for quite some time now. I love reviews and I _do _reply to them. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.  
****Enjoy! **

* * *

Chapter Two: Explanations

I shifted anxiously under the blue-eyed stare of Captain Steve Rogers. Steve took a hesitant step toward me and seeing that I had no intention of moving, came to stand closer in front of me. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the words to say. Eventually he found them and spoke, his voice soft.

"I don't understand. How can you be here? From what I understand it's been 70 years but you don't look any different than when I saw you in 1943," the last part was barely above a whisper. I tried to form an explanation in my head but the helpless look in the soldier's eyes caused me forget any plausible or redeeming explanation. However, before I could speak the director reminded us of his presence.

"Hold on, I must have missed something if you two are claiming to know each other. Now Captain Rogers has been an icicle for almost 70 years I demand an explanation as to how you know him, Agent Fyres." The anger and confusion in Director Fury's voice was evident as his authority coiled itself into his words.

Looking back at Fury, I gathered myself and put on the mask of calm that I had learned to wear most of my life. Fury has gotten closer putting me between the two men that were at risk of threatening my personal space. I took a step back away from both of them and spoke.

"I am not from around here, it was why I was pulled into SHIELD in the first place. But I didn't find my way here recently. I first arrived in 1942 and was stranded here with no way home. I found myself alone in an unfamiliar place with no idea what to do. But I was no stranger to war fare and enlisted in the American forces since fighting was the only thing I could do in this world without being completely out of place."

"That doesn't explain how you met Rogers," Fury persisted, unsatisfied. I glanced at Steve who was getting chairs for us then continued.

"From the training camp, I met Dr. Erskine and he had pieced together where I hailed from and offered me a position in his labs. I will not deny that in your sciences I was practically useless but he requested me at all the testings for my…other skill sets. While at the camps I met the Captain –who was not yet a captain –and we became fast companions as the other recruits pestered us both –myself for being a women and Captain Rogers for his small size. That's all there is to that tale."

Fury's face was unchanged as he stared hard at Steve and I. I used to be unnerved by the director's hard looks but I had long since grown immune to it. Steve, however, shifted uneasily under the scrutiny of the spy. In that moment I took the time to look at him and actually see him. It had been many decades since I first met the young-old captain and I had lamented his supposed death. I had thought that I would never look upon eyes as blue as his and see the compassion that laid there. Steve Rogers was a little miracle of unexpected events. 'Just a kid from Brooklyn.' Steve glanced at me and we locked eyes; a small smile curved his lips, the infectious action tugging my lips into a smile of my own. Fury cleared his throat.

"Well seeing as you two already know each other I have a new assignment for you, Fyres." Apprehension welled inside me at the director's words. "I want you to monitor Captain Rogers and help him assimilate. He will be discharged tomorrow and will be staying with you at your home. You have been spending too many nights in your SHIELD room. That's an order not up for discussion." Without another words, Fury exited the room.

Steve and I stood there awkwardly for a moment then sat in the seats he had provided, the one meant for Fury sat empty. The soldier and I stared at each other unabashed as we took in the situation. The telltale signs of stress were written all over the blonde's face and ingrained in his body language. His back was straight and stiff in his seat with his muscular arms crossed tightly over his chest. The perspiration on his brow from his previous boxing had dissipated but his brow was still knitted together and creased in contemplation. His eyes were what held me frozen, however. Those clear blue eyes were clouded with worry as he looked back at me. Guilt gripped me as he had once been one of my dearest friends but now he looked upon me with trepidation. During the war he had trusted me completely but my presence alone said that I had not done the same. The weight of it goaded me into action to escape such raw scrutiny. I stood and glided over to a small folding table that held the bandage that he wrapped his fist with. Wrapping the gauze around my own smaller fist I made my way over to the abandoned punching bag.

"Do you fancy a session? It's been a while since I did this with a partner," I half-muttered. Steve gave a small half-hearted smile and made his way to the other side of the punching bag. He held the bag steady as I gave a few testing punches then began to get more involved. "I know you have questions," I grunted, "and I am prepared to answer as many as I can."

"How old are you?" I scoffed at the question.

"It's rude to ask a woman her age so let's just say I am older than your homeland."

"But that's over 200…" I nodded, indicating that I was well-aware of that. "Um, you said you 'hailed' from somewhere. Where exactly is that?"

My punches became a little more aggressive as I answered. "I am from many places but I don't exactly have a home. Where I'm from is of little importance and I'd rather not discuss that."

Steve sighed in discontent as I avoided another question. "How did you get here?"

I thought over how to answer him and paused my blows. "I guess I got here by trusting the wrong people, I suppose. " Anger flared in me and I resumed striking the abused sack. "A long time ago I had very few friends and apparently they were the wrong ones for me. We decided to take a journey here. The leader of our little group was determined to prove a point to us. He was reckless and pigheaded and ignorant and idiotic and put us in the middle of a war zone. We became confused and scattered and hell broke loose. I found myself wandering around the German woodlands with the least liked of the group. Very few trusted him and even fewer liked him. But I did –and I was a fool to. Back then I fancied him and I guess you could say we were an item of sorts. It was never confirmed legitimate," my punches came harder as I reminisced. "Everyone told me that he was a mistake I would regret one day and they were right. We were sleeping inside of a large hollowed out tree –a redwood –when I heard him shuffle awake. I awoke as he left the tree. Then there was a blinding light, a crack, and he was gone. And I was alone." My strikes reflected my anger at the memory and with one final punch sent the bag and Steve back many yards –farther than when Steve broke the connection.

My breathing was erratic as I was taken back to that time. _Tall trees. Burning wood. Tall grass. Autumn leaves beneath our feet. Green and blue eyes. Green blanket. The smell of peppermint. A beam of light. Nothing. He's gone. He's gone. No, he promised. But he's gone. He didn't come back. I'm alone. Alone. _

Shaking my head I snapped back to the present to find Steve standing in front of me, his large hands placed on my small shoulders. Worry was evident in his cerulean eyes. I let out a shaky breath and gave him a smile, assuring him that I was alright. Silently, he took my hands in his and brought them up to my face revealing that the bandages were blackened and as if it were in a fire. I snatched my hands away from his and looked down.

"They never came back for me…" I whispered. The captain returned a hand to my shoulder in an expression of comfort and spoke softly.

"Everything is going to be alright, you know. I may not know your whole story but I'm not going to push you. I thought that you had lied to me and was afraid that I never had a friend in you at all but I see that you are the same person I thought you to be, just maybe a little stranger," he joked lightly. I chuckled and smiled, happy that our friendship hadn't been tarnished like I had feared.

"I am going to arrange some things, and I shall be back. Freshen up, it's about time you see New York." Steve beamed at the idea of going outside and began to unbandage his fist. I turned to go to the door but then walked over to him.

I took his larger frame in my arms and hugged him fiercely. I buried my face in the side of his neck as I was not much shorter than him. I felt his thick arms fold around my slimmer body and his face pressed into my hair. We embraced for a few seconds; the man out of time and the woman out of place.

"It's good to see you again, Steve."


	3. Chapter 3: Family Matters

Chapter Three: Family Matters

The next few days spent with Steve had honestly some of the best in my life. We went to see films (I remember he loved them in the '40s despite their horrendous quality) and I had purchased as many history books as I could find to help him catch up on the past 70 years. I soon found out that documentaries were the best for him as they combined his love of film and need for historical knowledge. However, he never quite mastered the computer. Domestically, he fit in for the most part, but his "old-fashioned" manners proved to be a challenge when certain things hard for him to swallow. One of such things was his first encounter with common female clothes. Since the '40s women has covered themselves less and less. Steve wasn't good with fully dressed women and thus was downright abysmal with those that wore the ever-popular "booty shorts."

Upon Fury's orders I had made my apartment presentable for the captain to move into. Steve had made the adjustment into my apartment easily -but technically it was _his_ Brooklyn apartment. After we decided that the super soldier was dead in 1943 I had gone to tell his family of his fate. Albeit I left out much of the details –such as Hydra and the serum –I told them that he had fought valiantly, saved many lives, including my own, and had died saving their lives. His father, Joseph had been dead so I never met him but from the pictures, Steve looked just like him but he held all the mannerisms of his mother from what an aunt of his told me. Apparently, a falling out with his brother led to him distancing himself, he barely visited and it broke his mother's –Sarah's –heart. Upon knowing that I had become good friends with her son she and I spent a lot of time together talking about Steve then talking about ourselves and we became close friends. Once she found out that I had been staying with Howard Stark (as Erskine was dead and I had no other place to live), she promptly ordered that I come to live with her. The day I met her was one of the saddest days I had ever experienced. I shall always remember it.

* * *

August 23, 1943

I hugged the borrowed leather jacket closer to me as I made my way down the busy Brooklyn streets. The sun had refused to show its face the past few days. It was as if the sun itself knew that this was not a time for joyous weather. The clouds had blanketed over the city as if to wrap mourning souls in an embrace to comfort.

I made my way into an old building and started up the stairs to my destination. After staring down multiple apartment numbers I found the match I was looking for. Glancing at the address that was scribbled neatly in the back of the late captain's notebook confirmed that I had found the right door. My hands fidgeted nervously as I waited for the door to open after giving three hearty knocks. After a few moments the door opened to reveal a petite but sturdy looking woman that looked to be in her late 40s or early 50s. Her red hair was graying gently in some places but the two tones complimented her bright blue eyes that were staring warily into my own eyes. Her high cheekbones and sharp nose made her look intimidating despite her small stature and barely-there wrinkles. She was a very pretty woman and I found myself wishing that I had seen her at a younger age when she would've no doubt been at her prime. She looked nothing like Steven.

Realizing that I had been staring as we stood there in a battle of wits, I straightened up and addressed her. "Hello, is this the Rogers' residence?" My nerves had made my unusual accent thicker than normal. Upon hearing my accent, her eyes seemed to soften a touch as she replied in her own intonation.

"Yes, who wants to know?" Her accent was thick and one that I had heard a few times and later discovered was Irish.

"My apologizes. My name is Andromeda Fyres. I was –am a friend of Steven's. I was hoping I could speak with you." Her eyes lit up at the mention of Steve's name and a smile stretched across her face showing off dimples that Steve had no doubt inherited from her.

"A friend of Steve's? Please come in. I must know how my little Steven came to know such a beautiful girl!" Her voice was light and full of excitement as she ushered me inside her reasonably small apartment.

She quickly busied herself with making tea and coffee in the small kitchen as she chattered on about how rarely she heard from Steve those days. I watched as she came alive and shed the skin of the harsh woman I met in the threshold. When she came to life like that I could easily Steve in her. The way she became so animated in that moment reminded me of Steve when we went to pubs with the squadron. They had the same blue eyes and they sparkled the same when they spoke of something they were interested in and both got that far away look when they reminisced. She was small but knew how to command a space to where she seemed much bigger than she actually was. She stood maybe 5'3", 5'4 ½" if she puffed her hair up. The noise she made evidently woke up the only other occupant of the house as a red-headed man stumbled into the living room without a shirt. She immediately tossed a dirty dish rag at him and scolded him for being so indecent in the company of a lady. I chuckled for the first time in days as he gripped about how age has made her noisier. After convincing her that I wasn't hungry and she needn't worry herself with cooking, the man walked back in, his red hair sticking up in all directions.

"That is my older son, Douglas –Steven's older brother. I do my best to domesticate him but it seems that Steven inherited all the manners," she joked. Douglas looked just like his mother except with more height and his father's hazel eyes. His square jaw was wider than Steve's as he had his mother's heart-shaped face and freckles that were dusted across his sharp cheekbones and narrow nose. His eyes were brown around the pupil but quickly feathered to an olive green with flecks of gold throughout them and his haphazard hair was curlier than his mother's. They could easily be placed as mother and son. He winked at me when he saw that I was taking in his slightly disheveled appearance. I rolled my eyes at him.

"I have manners, I just choose not to display them," he spoke playfully as he sat on the sofa across from me.

"Is that so?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, because you see darling," he reached a freckled hand into the small wooden bowl of candies on the coffee table, "if you hand out something often it becomes standard it becomes expected and loses value," the bowl was mostly peppermint and coconut assortments. "But when you give something out carefully and sparingly it becomes rare and exotic and is appreciated more and is more sincere when given." He pulled out a singular chocolate candy and handed it to me. I smiled at his artful metaphor and saw how he and Steve shared their beautiful way of looking at the world. My heart clenched knowing that I was to be the one to ruin their day.

Sarah brought the tea and coffee over and took a seat next to her son and spoke. "So what have you come for, sweetheart. Steven obviously didn't send you as he's not here with you."

"Well, _I_ would love to know how my little shrimp of a brother managed to get a beautiful dame such as yourself to like him enough to come and know his family." Sarah smacked his arm at the use of the word "dame" and I could tell it hurt by how he cringed.

"Well, I met him a while back in the training in England. He was the only one that didn't degrade me for being a woman. From there we bonded, you could say."

"What was Steven doing in England?" Sarah questioned. I raised an eyebrow and responded confused. "He was training, he joined the army… you didn't know, did you?" Sarah covered her mouth as she began to realize what this meeting could mean.

"Wait, how did that 90 pound asthmatic get accepted into the army in the first place?" Douglas demanded. I had anticipated this question and pulled out a Polaroid of Steve, myself and some of the men from the squadron at a bar and played dumb.

"Steve must have changed since you've last seen him. He's is not the 'shrimpy' boy you speak of." I handed them the picture and they stared at it quietly, taking in that things have changed for the youngest Rogers. I continued while they were quiet. "Well, there was a… complication in a mission in the Alps and he ended up having to pilot an enemy aircraft. This plane was carrying missiles of utter destruction. Those missiles would've desolated the entire eastern coast of this country. The missiles could not be redirected and he couldn't stop it. So he had to land the plane but there wasn't any land so he decided to put it in the water… I am so sorry and I wish it weren't so but Steven is…dead." I choked on my words a little as I still hadn't come to terms with it much less said it out loud. Sarah made a sort of strangled noise as she tried to choke down her sobs.

"Why would he do that? He always thought he was invincible! My little Steven…" she cried harder and buried her face in her remaining son's chest as he held her close. Douglas had yet to react and sat there wide-eyed. Finally he spoke, his voice broken.

"No, that can't be right." Sarah pulled away from him as he spoke. "No. Last time I saw him I said things I didn't mean. I meant to apologize I swear. I didn't even get to say good bye. No he can't do that. He doesn't have the right to go and be all self-sacrificial! He can't! He's my little brother! I'm the one that's supposed to go and do the protecting! Not him! He can't be! He's my brother!" Douglas had stood up and smashed our empty cups and attacked the wall before crumpling to the ground and sobbing. Sarah went to him and pulled him into her arms like a baby as they mourned together. I watched as the life vanished from both of their eyes. Their cheeky spirits evaporated at knowing that only half of their original family was left.

I had stayed with them for the rest of the day and all night. I quickly learned where everything was and made them tea, coffee, dinner, whatever they needed. I had been the one to deliver the news, I felt that I had to make sure that they would be alright. I had grown attached to their quirky Irish ways and found a bit of Steve within them and I wasn't ready to let go then. Eventually, I learned to let go when Sarah died and Douglas followed some decades later. Sarah had left the apartment to Douglas who left it to me.

I still had the apartment.

I had preserved all the furnishings but only had half of it in the apartment, the other half was in a storage unit somewhere in the Bronx. The only thing that was untouched was Steve's room from before he had moved out and before I met him. Steve liked to hear the stories of his family while he was in the ice.

* * *

A few days ago.

"…your brother thought that he was slick enough to escape your mother after she found out he sold that hideous garden gnome. I personally couldn't believe someone actually bought the outrageous thing! She couldn't catch him to hit him but that woman had great aim, tossed a vase at him and barely missed." I finished a tale about Sarah and Douglas. Steve dissolved into a fit of laughter, no doubt imagining it.

"My mother had wicked aim, Doug always said I got off easy being the glass doll of the family," Steve remarked.

"Maybe that's where your skill with a shield comes from," I joked as I picked up his plate.

"Maybe… thank you."

"You made the coffee, I figured I could at least put the dishes away." I put the dishes and returned to my seat beside him on the couch.

"No, I don't mean the dishes…" he looked at me, the sadness was plain in his blue eyes. "Thank you for taking care of them. You didn't have to, no one asked you to but you did it anyways. I know they can be crazy but they were my family. You risked exposing yourself by staying with them and can't thank you enough for it." I smiled and scooted closer to hug his large frame.

"At first I did it for you because I saw you in them but eventually I did because I wanted to. I loved them, they became my family. You don't need to thank me…" He slung an arm around my shoulders and ruffled my hair affectionately. "However you can make it up to me with massages."

During the war I had discovered that Steve gave phenomenal massages.

* * *

The day that Steve came home was an interesting day to say the least. I had made a quick work of getting Steve moved in and it made for an interesting reaction from the landlord downstairs. When I had first moved there it was 1943 and while the landlords had changed over the years they all had met their new tenants and I was a repeating face of seven decades. The current landlord was a narcissistic college student named Jackson Overland. He was known as a flirt and he lived up to that reputation. For as long as he had been my landlord he tried many times to convince me to give him a second glance and he was rather cheeky and persistent about it. When he saw Steve walk in with me laughing he was shocked into a momentary daze.

Steve and I walked into the lobby with him carrying the one bag he had. He was smiling brightly showing off his small singular dimple as he spoke.

"You haven't changed much; I think the only real difference is your hair. It was blonde –bordering on white -last time." His eyes scanned over my chemically blackened hair as he spoke.

I chuckled. "Well I discovered shortly after you left that my hair color was noted to be unusual."

"I suppose you're right. But it suited you." Steve blushed and looked away as he voiced his compliment.

"I believe that anything would look good on the beautiful Andrea," Jackson spoke up as he exited the lobby office and made his way towards us. Once he reached us he slung a lightly muscled arm around my shoulders. "Hello, sweetheart."

I rolled my eyes and shrugged his arm off me. "How many times have I told you to stop calling me that? It is not my name. And I am far from your sweetheart."

"That may be true now but one day you will be," he remarked, ignoring my first statement. Steve then came and stood closer to me making his presence known. Extending a hand to Jackson, he spoke.

"Hello, you must be Jackson. My name is Steve." Jackson eyed him, sizing him up. Taking his hand and shaking it he answered.

"Well you already know my name so there's no point in me saying it. How do you know me?"

"Andy told me about you."

"Did she now?" Jackson gave me a cheeky look and winked, a cocky smirk playing at his lips.

"She did. I figured that I should know about my landlord before I move in-" Jackson interrupted him then.

"Oh, you want an apartment? Well there are some vacancies on the third floor-"

"-with Andy."

"What?" Jackson's mouth fell slack as he deadpanned at the statement. I couldn't help but let out a laugh at his shocked expression. Once I collected myself, i spoke up.

"Steve will be living with me from now on. You always said that I needed a flat-mate and now I have one." I inclined my head at Steve then made my way to the elevator. "Come on, Steve. It's been a while since I last made dinner for anyone besides myself."

Living with Steve proved to be a great improvement to my life until the nightmares began.

Every night dreams of the war plagued me. Sometimes it was of the close calls in battle or of Steve flying into the arctic waters. In the latter of those dreams I was in the plane with him, sinking with him, drowning with him but powerless to stop it. I either dreamt of those things or I dreamt of nothing at all. Normally when I awoke in the middle of the night I was cloaked in a thin sheen of sweat with my heart pounding and gasping for air. However, that night I was woken by the nightmares of someone else.

Steve's screams rang out through the space of the apartment, no words, just an incessant wail of agony. Jolted from my own discontent slumber, I dashed to the source of the abhorrent shrieking. I found Steve in his room half-covered by the sheets and thrashing about wildly. His face was twisted in agony as he balled his fist into the mattress.

"Steve? Steve! Steven, wake up!" I rushed to his side and placed my hands on his cheeks. "Steve, wake up!" I slapped his cheeks lightly and shook him roughly. His azure eyes shot open and he stopped screaming but continued to make small panicked noises. His eyes darted around the room trying to place in his mind where he was. I placed a hand on his chest to still his movement and tilted his head to look at me. He tried to speak through his hysteria but I immediately silenced him. "It was dream, Steve. It was a nightmare. You're safe. Don't worry. You're safe. It was a dream," I whispered to him as I held his face firmly in my hands as his bright eyes searched my green ones. "You're safe." With those words I watched as the super soldier crumpled.

He leaned into me and whimpered softly. In that moment he seemed so small and helpless despite his large build. I pulled him into my arms, my back against the iron headboard as he curled into my side. His skin was like ice as if he were released from the arctic mere moments before. He trembled and his breathing was ragged. He buried his face into my neck as he wrapped an arm around my middle. Soon his whimpering subsided and gave way to soft shudders. I rubbed his shoulder soothingly and spoke.

"Do you want to talk about it?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

He let out a shaky breath before adjusting so that his head was resting on my shoulder. His usually deep voice was a raspy whisper. "I… I dreamt of the ice. I dreamt of sinking, drowning, and freezing. It's always the same… I'm in the plane as it sinks and fills with ice water. I-I feel the water rising around me. It's so cold. It hurts. It's numbing but burning and splintering all at once and I can't move. Then I'm submerged and it hurts so much! My eyes burn and I can't see anything and I'm suffocating. I can't breathe but the icy water hurts and I can't stop breathing it in and my lungs hurt. It's so cold-"

"Shhh. It's alright. You're safe now. Everything is okay. Shhh." I cut him off as his voice rose with hysteria. I pulled him closer and quieted him. After a while of sitting like this his breathing finally calmed down. "Better?" He nodded his head and I passed my hand through his hair before getting up. Just as I reached the door he spoke up in a steadier voice.

"Andromeda…" I stopped at the use of my full name, very few knew it. I locked eyes with him as he continued. "I know I don't have the right to ask you this but will you stay with me? Just for tonight…"

I closed the door and walked over to the bed. I smiled gently at him and got back into the bed as he adjusted around me back into our original position. His blonde head rested on my shoulder with his arms around my middle section. I pulled the covers up around us and we laid there quietly. After a while he fell asleep leaving me to my thoughts about the man in my arms. Eventually I fell asleep and dreamt of a home far away.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello again! Once again, thank you for reading. I was never a huge comic book fan despite my large X-Men comic collection so I had to do a bit of research. It is canon that Steve's parent's were Sarah and Joseph and were Irish immigrants and he _does_ have a brother named Douglas -whether it is an older brother or not I don't know so I took some creative liberty with that. And now reviews!  
Rainbow Magic Girl: Thank you for the review and the compliment. I try really hard to keep Marvel characters in character. Once again thank you!**


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